


Look Back In Anger

by JayTRobot



Series: Cadence and Cascade [3]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Anger, Confrontations, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Martin is a Manipulative Bastard, Mentions of Violence, Protective Mother, and I love it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 15:02:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21138620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayTRobot/pseuds/JayTRobot
Summary: Jessica gets ahold of the surveillance footage from Martin's cell and confronts her ex-husband about it.ORMartin gets a sadistic thrill out of rubbing it in his ex-wife's face that he's sleeping with their son.





	Look Back In Anger

**Author's Note:**

> Tagged mature for references to sexual activity, incest, and violence.

Jessica stormed through the hallways of the psychiatric prison, heading for her ex-husband’s cell, fury written over her every movement.

She’d dressed well, she was _always_ dressed well, but she’d be damned if she _ever_ let Martin see her out-of-sorts. Her heels clacked on the linoleum floors, announcing her presence, and bringing her closer to her ex-husband’s height.

She’d be damned if she let him tower over her.

The door to Martin’s cell swung open and she had the distinct pleasure of watching shock flit across his features before he hid it with a smile.

“Jess,” Martin said softly, calmly, in that fucking tone that he used when he was trying to control a situation. “It’s...wow, you look amazing...it’s a pleasure. Please, come in. Make yourself at home.” He gestured to the other chair in the room, the one on the far side of the red line that crossed the floor. He remained sitting near his desk and smiled that charming bastard smile of his.

“No,” Jessica snapped, frowning, broadcasting her displeasure with every inch of her. “I’m not here for a friendly visit. I’m here to talk about Malcolm.”

Martin’s eyebrows came together in a fair approximation of polite worry but she caught the flash of concern in his eyes. “Is something wrong? Malcolm’s alright, isn’t he?”

Jessica took three angry steps in his direction, intending to slam the disc in her hand down on his desk, but edged away from the line on the floor at the last moment. Instead, she threw it at him. The disc, in its thin plastic case, sailed through the air, striking him harmlessly in the chest before clattering to the floor. “You tell me,” she said.

Picking up the disc, Martin turned it over in his hands. Written on the front, in Sharpie, was a date the week prior and a timestamp for a little after six in the evening. He stared at it for a moment, then turned a look of calm confusion on her. “I’m sorry, Jess, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. You know very well that he’s forbidden to visit.”

“Don’t you _dare_ lie to me, Martin!”

Martin looked mildly taken aback by her shouting. He sighed and brushed his hands along his thighs. “Alright then.”

“Well?” she asked, gesturing at the disc.

“I honestly don’t know what this is,” Martin replied, turning the disc over again. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“That, you depraved _monster_, is surveillance footage of you forcing yourself on our son!” Jessica said, low and angry at first, her voice rising. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

Martin stood, sudden and furious. “I would _never_ hurt Malcolm. You know that!” He rushed at her, powerful and frightening -- then hit the end of his tether. He snarled in frustration and paced the line, glaring at her.

She forced herself to stand tall, uncurling shoulders that had shrunk in when he’d charged forward.

Watching that telling movement, Martin calmed. Then smiled. Slowly, he walked up to the line, directly in front of her. Grinning, he asked softly, “What’s the matter, Jess? Jealous?”

This time, the red line on the floor didn’t stop her. Before she was truly conscious of what she was doing, Jessica had crossed the space between them and slapped Martin, hard, across the face. Hard enough that blood colored the corner of his mouth.

Martin’s hand closed around her wrist and he regarded her coolly. “Got you,” he whispered.

“Guard!” Jessica yelled. Terror blossomed in her immediately, uncontrollably. Every ounce of composure that she had forced flew out the window, through the bars, as she struggled against Martin’s implacable grip.

The guard barged in, the one that was on her payroll, and Martin dropped her wrist instantly, holding up his hands and backing away. “She’s on my side of the line,” he said quickly then, perhaps realizing that that sounded like he was trying to pass the blame, added, “She hit me. I prevented her from doing it again. Even a prisoner has the right to defend himself.”

The guard frowned, stepped outside of the room, and returned with the wrist and ankle cuffs. As he put them on Martin, he turned to Jessica and said, “Ma’am, please stay on this side of the room, if you insist on being in the cell with him.”

“I will,” Jessica replied, too quickly, hating how small and scared she sounded.

“Do you want me to stay in here with you?” the guard asked.

“No.” She needed to regain her control of the situation, to prove she wasn’t afraid to be in the same room as her ex-husband. She waved a hand dismissively and stood stock-still until the door shut behind him.

Like a switch, Martin’s face shifted from hurt innocence to a cruel grin. “That’s it, isn’t it? You can’t stand to see your most loyal and diligent lover using his talents elsewhere.”

“You’re disgusting. First, you force yourself on--”

“I did _not_ rape our son,” Martin said, low and angry and clearly trying very hard not to shout. He took a breath, then two, then said, “I thought you’d watched the video.” He smiled again.

“I didn’t sit and watch my ex-husband fuck our son, no. I saw enough.” She _had_ seen enough. She’d seen Martin lift their son onto his desk -- her eyes flitted involuntarily to the desk in question, her stomach turning at the thought -- and she’d seen the tears on Malcolm’s face, the look of discomfort.

Martin, still smiling, nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe you should’ve watched the whole thing. You could’ve seen Malcolm asking me to help him work through his demons.” He took a step closer. “You could’ve seen Malcolm cross the line.” Another step. “You could’ve seen Malcolm wrap his hand around my, ah, most valuable asset.” His smile turned into a grin as he took one last step and hit the end of his tether. “You could’ve seen our beautiful boy undress and demand that I have him.”

“You’re lying,” Jessica said but her heart wasn’t in it. Martin was taking far too much pleasure from this, from something that could so easily be checked for truth.

“Am I?” Martin asked, still grinning, the grin of a man that knew he was hurting someone and was taking pleasure from it.

Jessica’s shoulders shook with a suppressed sob. She’d be damned if she let him see her cry, ever again. “You manipulated him, like you manipulate everyone. You’re a monster. A heartless, soulless monster.”

Martin chuckled. “Oh, Jess. No matter how many times you say it, it won’t be true. I love our children. And I love you, too.” He tilted his head. “I will admit that I did hide things from you, and the children, for your own good. I was protecting you, can’t you see that? I’ve only ever wanted to help.”

Shaking her head, Jessica fought down the feelings in her chest. She did love Martin, all those years ago. He had been a good husband. Sometimes...sometimes all she could remember was his warmth and kindness and love.

He smiled, softly, a gentle smile, and she wanted nothing more elegant than to kick his teeth in.

She forced herself to think of his victims. The people he’d tortured and murdered. She dragged her thoughts to how many times he’d touched her, made love to her, while hours before his hands had been in another woman, in her blood and her organs. His careful, sensual fingers cutting a person apart, all while he smiled and loved his family.

Jessica’s stomach rolled again, her jaw clenched as her mouth filled with saliva. After a moment, she very clearly enunciated, “You weren’t protecting anyone but yourself. You never have and you never will.” She paused, another shaky breath, and added. “Malcolm has a bite-mark on his arm and bruises on his wrists but you have the audacity to stand there and claim that he asked you to...do that?”

Martin had the grace to sigh ruefully. “Poor little fella got carried away -- I suppose he didn’t want the guard to hear him -- and bit himself. I held him down so he wouldn’t do any more damage. You know how he gets, Jess. He’s safer and more comfortable restrained.”

“You know what?” Jessica snapped. “I’m done. I’m done having this conversation. You are never going to see Malcolm again. I will make sure of that.” She turned on her heel and walked toward the door, feeling like she was running, and maybe she was, but she’d be damned if she let him know it.

“Malcolm is a grown man.” Martin’s voice crept into her, over the clacking of her heels and her angry breathing. “You can’t tell him what to do anymore, Jess. You tried to, for years and years. What good came of it?”

Jessica stopped, her hand on the door, bracing herself instead of knocking. “He got ten years of reprieve.”

“Did he?” Martin chuckled. “Because it seems to me that he got ten years of loneliness, pain, and longing that led to this.” A pause. “He needs his father, Jess. He loves me.” The disc, in its thin, plastic case, skated across the floor and came to a halt next to her right foot. “You really should watch the whole thing. See for yourself.” The smugness of his voice nearly drove Jessica to turn around, to confront him again, but that was exactly what he wanted.

Instead, she lifted her foot and brought her heel down on the disc, shattering it.

Deadly serious, low and angry, she said, “If you lay a hand on him again, I will see to it that you’re suffocated in your sleep.” With that, she knocked on the door, which was opened by the guard.

“I think you overestimate your influence, darling,” Martin called after her. “But it was nice to see you again! Tell Ainsley I said hello!”

Jessica made her way through the halls of the psychiatric prison in a haze. Fury and nausea and the overwhelming feeling that Martin was telling the truth combined to make everything fuzzy and unreal.

She didn’t know if she’d ever get that image out of her head, of Malcolm’s tear-streaked, pained face...and undeniable arousal. The way he’d pawed at Martin’s cardigan, tugging him closer. She’d meant what she said, though, that if Martin touched her son again, he would suffer for it, regardless of manipulated, warped consent.

Jessica got into her car and pulled out her phone. Malcolm’s number rang twice before going to voicemail. She sighed.

“Malcolm, it’s your mother. The one whose calls you never answer,” she said, forcing her voice into its normal tone. She wondered if Malcolm answered Martin’s calls. “We need to talk. I’ll be over at dinnertime. I’ll bring Chinese food.”

Hanging up, she leaned her head back and let the tears slide down her cheeks, knowing that her tinted windows afforded her some measure of privacy. Malcolm had always been closer to his father; he’d never been a mother’s boy. But he did seem to be pushing her away more and more.

Maybe Martin was right. Maybe by denying Malcolm his father’s love, she’d driven him to this...this depraved release.

She realized that she _was_ jealous. Not of Malcolm experiencing Martin’s objectively talented lovemaking. She was jealous that Martin, who was unworthy, a monster and a murderer, someone who had twisted their family, twisted _Malcolm_, still had their son’s heart in his blood-stained hands.


End file.
